


The Marauders Bag a Bounty

by byebyebluejay



Series: Mischief Managed: Marauding Stories [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hogwarts, M/M, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Pranks and Practical Jokes, light language and boyish attitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byebyebluejay/pseuds/byebyebluejay
Summary: Short on pocket money, the Marauders devise a scheme to make some money from Filch. In other news, Sirius quotes Shakespeare, Remus gets his first kiss, and James scares some second years so he can sit on his favorite couch.





	The Marauders Bag a Bounty

“Loony thinks that he can win,  
Thinks he can keep the monster in,  
But every month he makes a din!  
Loony, loopy Lupin! Loony, loopy Lupin!”

Peeves was floating around the ceiling of classroom five, tearing pages out of Remus’s transfiguration textbook and crumpling them up, pelting them down at their heads. Peter was sheltering himself under Sirius’s shield charm, James was whisking the missiles out of the air with a summoned breeze, and Remus alone stood staring up at Peeves, trying not to look as helpless as he felt. 

“Peeves, if you could just give me back my—accio textbook!” He had been trying to catch the poltergeist unawares, but Peeves’s grip on the book was too strong. Cackling, Peeves shot across the room towards Remus, being hauled by the book. Remus only just got his fingers on it before Peeves zoomed away again, his squat face gleeful. 

“Nice try, Moony,” Sirius said as Peeves began singing again.

“Loony thinks that he can win! Loony loopy Lupin!” 

“I’ll go get the Bloody Baron, Peeves,” Remus said, but Peeves only blew a loud raspberry. 

“Loony tries to reel me in,  
Loony thinks that he can win!  
Loony loopy Lupin!”

In utter frustration, Remus aimed a hex at the poltergeist, but Peeves only flew five feet upward, flipping upside-down and tearing out a few more pages of the book that were batted away by James’s wind. 

“Let me try,” Sirius said, dispelling the shield and taking a few steps forward. 

“Sirius!” Peter squeaked, cowering back against the wall, but Sirius just waved him off.

“It’s only paper, Wormy. Don’t be such a mouse,” He said, sticking his hands into the pockets of his robes and walking straight into the line of fire. A wad of paper bounced off his head, but when he only grinned, Peeves paused, eyes wide with curiosity, “Oi, Peeves,” Sirius said, “I exploded a toilet twenty minutes ago and Filch is off trying to keep the first floor from flooding. So, if you wanted to go into his office, there’s a load of Fanged Frisbees in there that you could liberate. Could try to decapitate a few of those titchy first years.” Peeves bobbed in midair, watching Sirius, and Remus could all but see the gears turning in his mind.

“Is he? And his office is there waiting, all full of treats?”

“You bet. I’ve got a dozen Screaming Yo-yos in there and everything. Filch took them from me. Now they’re yours for the taking. I bet if you flushed them down the toilet, he might never be able to get them out.” With a shriek like a tea kettle boiling, Peeves shot through the ceiling. Remus’s transfiguration textbook hit the ceiling and fell with a smack onto the flagstones. Remus cast a relieved look at Sirius, shoulders sagging at last. That had gone on for far too long. It looked like at least a quarter of the book had been torn out. 

“Wow. You and Peeves finally building that rapport?” James asked, corralling the crumpled papers around Remus’s feet like a small flock of sheep.

“You just need to know how to speak his language,” Sirius said, summoning the book into his hand.

“Thanks, Padfoot,” Remus said, stooping to scoop up the crumpled pages, “Repairo.” The pages knit themselves back into the book, and Remus ran a hand over it, trying to urge it into smoothness, “He seems to be targeting me more and more often.”

“Prefect,” James and Peter said in unison, and Sirius nodded.

“You’re on the wrong side of the war against chaos,” Sirius said sagely, clapping Remus on the shoulder and sliding the book into his bag with his other hand, “You and Peeves are natural enemies now.” It felt like the truth now that Sirius said it, though it hadn’t occurred to him before. The decision to make him a prefect had been surprising as it was gratifying, but it had also caused a certain schism in Remus between his desire to support his friends and his own sense of duty and moral compass that had only become more pronounced over the course of the last year. All the same, he didn’t think the division was as clean as Sirius implied. 

“I didn’t choose Peeves as an enemy. I didn’t choose to be a prefect either. It’s not my fight to fight. Filch is the only one with a vendetta against Peeves,” Remus said, but Sirius was shaking his head slowly, the hand on his shoulder moving to settle on his spine, between his shoulder blades. 

“Ah, but alas, poor Moony,” He looked at James, wearing a gleaming knife of a grin, though his posture drooped with dramatized grimness, “I knew him well, Prongs. A fellow of infinite jest and of most excellent fancy. And now, how abhorred in my imagination it is!” James and Peter were watching Sirius with blank confusion on their faces, and Remus was shaking with suppressed laughter, wondering just how much Shakespeare Sirius was capable of quoting. And then it became much easier not to laugh, because Sirius reeled him around, one hand on his jaw, the other reaching out with calloused fingers to tenderly brush against his mouth, and then Remus wished he _could_ laugh, because the others and Sirius could not have missed his sudden stillness, “Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where are your gambols now? Your gibes? No one now to mock your own… Hang on a minute.” Sirius’s eyes, which had been locked on his, grew misty and distant, and, fingertips still sitting on Remus’s lip, he began murmuring to himself. Remus leaped on his chance at an escape, taking a step back from Sirius’s touch. Sirius’s eyes refocused, and for a moment a pout tugged at his mouth. 

“Where did you learn so much Shakespeare, Sirius? It seems very unlike Walburga to teach you about a muggle writer,” Remus said, and Sirius recovered himself too, laughing loudly enough that it echoed through the room. 

“Oh, I’ve been sneaking into theaters during the summer holiday for the last three years. Ever we learned disillusionment charms. Sneaking in loads of places, actually. Football games. Movie sets. Museums. Zoos. Concerts. I’ve seen Hamlet three times. I don’t think I could survive spending two months with my dear old mum and darling father otherwise. In fact, I don’t even plan on trying next year.”

“Really?” Peter had long since abandoned cowering by the wall, and was now looking at Sirius with the utmost admiration on his face, “That’s brilliant, Sirius!” 

“And you go to the theater?” Remus said, more than a little staggered himself, “You watch plays?” James looked thunderstruck, and by the time he found his tongue again, he had to wait to voice his opinion. 

“Well, yeah. After you turned me on to movies, I went to the cinema too. But I ran out of good movies. I watched _The Omen_ six or seven times. I went to the theater a lot this past summer. Do you know about _The Importance of Being Earnest_? I think you’d like it, Moons.” Remus didn’t have time to answer before James cut in. 

“You have the Trace! We all have the Trace! Godric’s bollocks, how is it that you get away with everything?” 

“See, the thing about London is, James,” Sirius said as he turned away from all of them and started for the door of the classroom, “It’s full of magic. So the Trace can kiss my arse. The Ministry can’t pin anything on me.” 

The water from Sirius’s exploded toilet was making slow but steady progress across the entry hall, but that was far less disrupting than the cacophony of screams and whoops echoing against the stones. 

“It sounds like someone’s trying to start a chorus with a load of banshees,” Hufflepuff prefect Patrick Dooley shouted at Remus as he scrambled up the stairs from the direction of the kitchens, “Do you know what’s going on?” Remus saw the other three Marauders laughing, but couldn’t hear them over the chaos.

“Peeves!” He supplied, “I saw him heading for Filch’s office a little while ago. He must have stolen some Screaming Yo-yos.”

“What? Peeves? Cripes, it’s loud,” And he ran off in the direction of the vandalized bathroom. 

By the time they made it back up to the common room, James was too amused by the thought of the ruined bathroom to be indignant with Sirius. “Move. Go on, move,” He said to a group of second years gathered on the sofa nearest the fire, waving his wand in their general direction, “Sixth years coming through.” And James had backed up his wand waving with enough hexes last year that they abandoned their places without question. He flopped down in the middle of the couch with a satisfied groan, and Sirius and Peter assumed their positions at his right and left sides. 

“You could have just asked them if they minded moving, James,” Remus said as he sat down beside Sirius, and was immediately pulled into a tight hug, crushed in snugly against Sirius’s side, “Instead of threatening them.”

“I didn’t threaten them, Moony,” James said, “I just waved at them with my wand. Any maybe I was a little rude. But why should twelve-year-olds get the best seats in the common room anyway? We have seniority.” 

“Here, here,” Said Sirius, stretching out his legs with a languid sigh, “Mmm. That’s nice. All warm and cozy.” He leaned his head against James’s shoulder, but his gaze settled on Remus’s face, flickering between his eyes, his mouth, the scar crossing his nose and the ones marring his cheeks. “Week until your furry little problem goes on the offensive. How are you feeling?” The reminder wasn’t a pleasant one. His muscles remembered some of their tension. Still, he stretched his shoulders and his neck, considering.

“Alright,” He said at last, “I don’t think it’s going to be too bad this time. I hope it’s not going to be too bad this time, anyway.”

“That’s good news!” Peter said, peering around James and Sirius to smile at Remus, “Maybe you’ll be able to pick up after your furry little problem pretty fast this visit.” 

“One can only hope,” Remus said, managing a small smile. 

“We should buy treats,” James said brightly, nudging Peter, “How much is in the pun bag, Wormtail?” 

“Erm…” Peter ferreted around in his pockets for a few seconds before drawing out a silk drawstring bag that had once contained his collection of gobstones, though apparently he’d lost interest in the game over the summer. He peered inside, then dumped out the sickles into his palm. “Five sickles,” He announced, before dropping the coins back in the bag and replacing them in his pocket. 

“Five sickles?” James said, indignant, “Where did it all go?”

“Butterbeer and Firewhiskey after the last quidditch victory,” Sirius said, tallying on his fingers, “Filibuster Fireworks. Assorted sweets. An Auto-Answer Quill. And… I think that’s it.”

“We blew the whole lot? We had twenty-three galleons and four sickles at one point,” James said, fiddling with the temples of his glasses, “What happened?”

“We bought a lot of booze,” Sirius said, “And I guess you lot have discouraged me making puns. It’s taken three years, but it’s finally starting to sink in. You’re reformed me. I’m serious now.” 

“You’ve always been Sirius,” James said, and Sirius laughed, joyful and so _silly_. Remus slid his hand over Sirius’s, laced their fingers together, and squeezed, while James grinned and offered a sickle to Peter. Sirius squeezed back, and didn’t untangle their hands. 

“Six sickles,” Peter amended, “Still not enough to buy much.”

“You got any money, Padfoot?” James asked, glancing over at Sirius, who shook his head.

“Nope. My cash flow has been diverted to other… projects.” Now that sounded menacing. 

“Are you buying more Screaming Yo-yos?” James asked.

“Nope.”

“What, then?”

“Something really bloody amazing, that’s what. But you wouldn’t understand. I’ll show you when it’s further along.”

“You can’t tell me that!” James groaned, “Come on, Sirius. Whatever it is, I’ll keep it a secret. Even from these two, if you want.”

“No way, Jamie. It’s my own personal secret. You will find out soon enough. A year, maybe. I dunno. What about you and your money, Son of Sleekeazy?” 

“My pockets aren’t as deep as my family’s Gringotts vault,” James said, “I gave you my last sickle, and I have one galleon in my Evans Dating Fund, and I’m not giving that up.”

“Right. So, what then? No party next time you win a quidditch game? No post-F.L.P. snack-fest? No more Zonko's?” Sirius said, sad puppy face on full blast as he fluttered his eyelashes at James. It didn’t seem to work on James the same way it did on Remus and some other people. He only elbowed Sirius, who straightened up, finally letting go of Remus’s hand in favor of massaging his ribs, “Merlin, Prongs. You’ve got elbows like the end of a broomstick.”

“We can come up with a way to earn money,” James said, “That’s what we’ll do. That’s all there is for it. Let’s brainstorm.”

“Maybe not here,” Remus said, casting a glance over his shoulder at the dozen or so people gathered around the common room, talking and studying. The four of them went up to the dormitory instead, James and Sirius sitting at the edge of one bed, Peter and Remus on another. All of them sat in silence for a few seconds before Remus finally spoke.

“We could make and sell things. I think people would like to buy those party poppers you made for my birthday last spring.”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius said, and Remus was surprised at the growl in his voice and the stony disapproval in his face, “That violates the Marauding spirit, Moony.” Remus couldn’t help but laugh, though Sirius looked no less grave.

“Selling pranks violates the Marauding spirit?”

“Yes,” Said Sirius, “Don’t you think, Prongsy?” 

“I don’t see any harm in it,” James said, and then, because Sirius was looking at him with haughty distaste that made Remus see, as he so rarely did, the striking resemblance Sirius had to his mother and father, “What, Pads?”

“The Marauding spirit is to cause as much trouble as possible for the edification and amusement of all, whenever it’s fun and convenient to us. Open access to everyone, except for nasty gits who wouldn’t appreciate our pranks anyway. We can’t _sell_ pranks. We’d have to give them away,” said Sirius, flopping back on the bed and stretching his arms above his head, exposing a few inches of tan belly. Peter, glancing up at James and finding him looking bemused, smiled. 

“I don’t remember signing off on that, Padfoot. What’s wrong with making a little money off our jokes?”

“Good point, Wormtail,” James said, and Peter flushed with delight. 

“Open access to everyone but nasty little gits,” Sirius said again. James sighed, mussing up his hair.

“Okay. No selling prank stuff, then. Sorry, Moony. I thought it was a good idea.” Remus only shrugged, though Sirius’s swift rejection of his suggestion stung hum more than it should have. “So. What do we do, then?” 

“We could do something for people,” Peter said, chin in his hand. 

“What sort of service could we provide?” Remus asked, plucking at a loose thread in the cuff of his shirt sleeve, “Most things that come to the top of my head seem a little boring.” Sirius hummed his agreement, and they were all quiet for another span, until James spoke.

“What if we prank someone? Charge money for a service, make them think that we did it, but actually just blow them off.”

“Something against school rules,” Sirius cut in, pushing himself up on his elbows, “Something under the table, so they couldn’t go complaining to a teacher.” 

“Who pays for something they haven’t got, though?” James said, “You always see what you’re getting before you buy it.” 

“If you’re clever or cynical,” Remus amended, “Not everyone is.” James laughed.

“The only thing is,” Sirius said, running his fingers through his long black hair and twirling the ends around his fingers, “We can only screw someone once. They won’t fall for it twice. And word will spread. We’ll get awful reputations very quickly.”

“I’d rather I didn’t lose my prefect post,” Remus said smiling, “If it’s all the same to you three. Just something to keep in mind as you’re thinking.”

“This is why Peeves hates you,” James said, grinning, “Go down and help Filch, why don’t you? I’m sure he’d love that.”

“Jammy!” Sirius shouted, punching James a little too hard in the arm in his excitement, fully upright again, “Filch! We can prank Filch!” 

“What?” There was a faint glimmer of fear in Peter’s eyes.

“Think about it,” Sirius said, paying no mind to James as he massaged his bicep, “Lives and eats at Hogwarts, so his cost of living is nearly nothing. We all know Dumbledore pays him well to keep him on through all the shite he has to deal with. And yet he still goes around in tatty old clothes with stupid, nasty old Mrs. Jennings and nothing else. He must be loaded. All liquid cash, probably. And what does he want more than anything? That he’s been denied by Dumbledore for years? That he would be willing to pay through the nose to get?” 

“Peeves out of the castle,” Remus murmured, realizing in a flash just what Sirius was planning, “He won’t stay quiet, Sirius. He’ll never go along with it.”

“Sure he will,” James said, forgetting all about his injury as he cottoned on to the plan too, “We can speak his language. But you’ll have to keep your nose out of it, Moony. During the Peeves negotiations, I mean. We’ll want you front and center when we’re talking to Filch.”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, watery blue eyes wide, “What about Peeves? What’s the plan?”

Sirius rose to his feet in front of Peter, putting his hand on his shoulders, “We, Wormy, are going to get Filch to put a bounty out on Peeves.”

It was decided that Remus and Sirius would be the ones to proposition Filch for the bounty—Sirius as the hard-bargainer and Remus to give the offer some credibility. It would be Sirius and James, as the school’s most infamous mischief-makers after Peeves himself, to convince the poltergeist to cooperate. The plan was really rather simple. Peeves couldn’t be trusted to remain in a box for any length of time, and there was no way to force him to stay there either, at least not that any of them knew of. But he could be convinced to quietly cause trouble on his own in some far-flung corner of the castle while they caused a commotion and faked a capture. 

The box itself was not difficult to set up. They made a prototype that night with Peter’s trunk, a bludger James had stolen, Sirius’s gramophone, and a record Remus made, as they came to the mutual consensus that he was the best at impressions out of all of them. The hardest part was getting a clean take, without James, Sirius or Peter breaking down in laughter as Remus screamed, “Ooh, you nasty ickle boys. Naughty, naughty! Peevesy will make you sorry. Oh yes, I will!” Dividing the trunk into two segments, the bludger in one side, the gramophone playing Remus’s record in the other, the effect was very convincing. 

“Think it’ll trick Filch?” James asked as he stood back to study the lurching, screaming trunk.

“Absolutely,” Sirius said, waiting a moment before kicking the box, so his foot connected just a moment before it shouted, ‘Stop it! Stop it! Let me out, Loony! Dumby Dung-brains will be so angry with you!’ and everyone laughed.

They deconstructed the box before bed. Remus was exhausted. He could feel the waxing moon in his bones; feel the wolf locked somewhere inside his chest stirring. But the other three were in high spirits, and it was a long time before Sirius and Peter stopped musing about how much money Peeves’s capture might be worth to Filch. James had somehow managed to drop off before them, as usual. There was a minute of silence, and then Sirius whispered into the darkness, “Peter?” More silence. Peter was snoring very softly. And then, “Rem? You awake?” Remus swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry.

“Yes,” He answered, and listened as Sirius’s bed creaked, and his bare feet padded along the floor. Then Sirius was standing over him, dark hair a mess, expression soft in the shadows. 

“Budge up,” Sirius murmured, and Remus did, scooting over to give Sirius enough room to lie down. He settled himself under the covers beside Remus, hands folded above his belly, face turned towards the ceiling, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” Remus’s mouth was papery now, though he couldn’t imagine what Sirius would want to talk about that should make him feel so nervous. Surely, there was nothing Sirius could bring up that he would be uncomfortable talking about. He probably just wanted to draw up some sort of script for talking to Filch. He was not at all expecting for Sirius to say what he said. “Did I bother you, earlier?” His voice was very quiet and very low, a rumbling whisper that Remus imagined he could feel reverberating in his chest. 

“Sorry?” He was scrambling to think of an incident that Sirius could be referring to.

“Earlier,” Sirius repeated, “When I said I didn’t want to sell pranks. You looked a little…” He shifted his hand on his stomach, giving his fingers a flutter, “I dunno. I just thought I might have upset you.” And Remus melted all at once, the warmth flooding his heart making him feel much braver than he had just a moment before. 

Taking Sirius’s hand in his, he brought it to his lips, kissing Sirius’s knuckles, then his palm. His pink nail polish was chipped, and the side of his hand was ink-smudged, but Remus could think of few things more lovely or nicer to kiss, except, perhaps, for other parts of Sirius. Sirius grinned at him in the dark. Then in a rush he was leaning into him, bare chest pressed against his shoulder, there and warm, and so close that Remus could barely focus his eyes on Sirius’s. Their noses nudged, and Remus could feel Sirius’s breath on his lips. Humid and minty with toothpaste. 

“I think you’re brilliant, Moonbeam,” Sirius whispered, and Remus’s heart lurched. Their lips brushed together with every word Sirius spoke, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know,” Remus whispered back, and making a pleased little sound in the back of his throat, Sirius kissed him, quick and chaste, as though to check and see if he could in fact do it. When he drew away, Remus could only blink dazedly up at him, and Sirius laughed, before kissing the scar that crossed the bridge of Remus’s nose. 

“Well, that’s it,” Sirius said, “That’s all I wanted to get off my chest.” He flopped back down beside Remus, “I’m sleeping here tonight, if that’s alright.” And Remus nodded, mutely, feeling half as though he must be dreaming, and half as though he couldn't possibly be lying calm and quiet in bed. When Sirius rolled onto his side, face away from him, Remus could not resist the urge to press his fingers to his lips, still feeling the memory of the kiss vividly. That night he dreamed about Sirius sunbaked and wild and naked to the waist, trying to urge him into the lake.

Sirius was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Remus in Filch’s office, face a mask of earnestness, hands clasped behind his back, “Remus has decided he’s sick of dealing with Peeves, and I’m happy to help a friend. Anyway, I’m tired of being upstaged. Just three hundred galleons to reimburse us for the cost of the materials, and you’ll be free of Peeves forever.” 

Filch was watching them beadily, jowls aquiver. “How do I know you won’t just take the money? That’s exactly the sort of thing you’d do, Black. Yes. Scheming to get a little more pocket change to buy banned items.”

“Understandable, not to trust Sirius,” Remus agreed, “But you don’t have to pay us until you see the box with Peeves inside. We’re confident our plan will work.”

“We just don’t want to clean out our savings accounts for it, if we’re not going to get the money back. We need a special box with special runes and things. And you need us, because if you make the unilateral decision to get rid of Peeves without Professor Dumbledore’s approval...” Sirius trailed off suggestively, “Anyway. The worst we’ll get is detention.”

“And we’re willing to make the sacrifice,” Remus agreed. Filch’s eyes narrowed still farther, flicking between the pair of them. 

“I’ll only pay after I’ve been given evidence that Peeves has been captured?”

“Tout à fait,” Sirius said with an exaggerated little bow.

“Three hundred galleons is very steep,” Filch said, eyes flicking between the pair of them, “One hundred.”

“I’m afraid the price is firm,” Sirius said, shaking his head, “Someone is supplying us with the box itself for two hundred fifty. The extra fifty is for the cost of labor, for the risk of the job, and for the detentions we may receive. Three hundred galleons or nothing.” Filch stood behind his desk for what felt like a full minute, cheeks blotchy, mouth working. Remus was beginning to think he would just throw them out in annoyance, but finally, he nodded. 

“If you show me the box, if I can watch you throw that filthy poltergeist into the lake, then you’ll get your three hundred galleons.” 

“Brilliant!” James crowed back in the dormitory, pacing up a frenzy around the room, “We’ll be set for the rest of our time here.” 

“You’ve buying me a new gramophone,” Sirius said. He was draped over the footboard of his bed, hair draping down to obscure his face, far less elated with the success of the first step of their plan than the rest of them. 

“You can get a top of the line one, Pads,” James said bracingly, “Three hundred galleons! Now we just need to convince Peeves to go put butter on the ladder leading up to the divination tower tonight or something, set off some fireworks to send Filch running, then… that will be that.”

Sirius had transfigured Peter’s trunk to look older and sturdier, and James had traced a few runes out of Remus’s ancient runes textbook onto the metalwork to complete the prop. And, with the gramophone and bludger inside, the illusion was complete. They decided that Tuesday would be the night to go through with the prank, when Remus was due to be on prefect duty. So, at eleven o’clock Tuesday night, they left the common room together, the gramophone off, the box itself hidden and levitating under the invisibility cloak. James and Sirius, with the map to guide them, went off to find Peeves, and Remus, tailed by Peter who was guiding the box, began a slow, roundabout trek to the Great Hall, where Sirius or James was supposed to meet them with the fireworks once Peeve’s cooperation had been secured. 

“Do you think they’ve done it, yet?” Peter whispered once they reached the ground floor and started towards the Great Hall.

“They must have found him already,” Remus mused, glancing up the slowly drifting flights of stairs, “I’m not sure if they’ve convinced him to make himself scarce yet.” The castle was quiet, though, which couldn’t be a bad sign, though he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of James or Sirius since they had left the common room. 

“Maybe they’re already waiting,” Peter said. And sure enough, once they reached the Great Hall, there was Sirius, perched on the end of the Ravenclaw house table with a pile of Filibuster firecrackers piled in his lap. He slid off the table as they entered, letting the firecrackers fall onto the ground around him as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “How did it go, Padfoot?”

“Easy as feeding a Bowtruckle fairy eggs,” Sirius said breezily, “He’s tying shoelaces together up in Ravenclaw Tower. I got James into the common room, so he could keep an eye on things.” Remus raised an eyebrow, “Did Dorcas tell you the answer to the riddle?”

“Nope. But those things are dead easy. They might as well just leave the place unlocked. It would take a real troll not to be able to get in.”

“What was the riddle?” Remus asked. Sirius shrugged. 

“What gets broken without being held?”

“A breath?” Peter asked eagerly as he moved closer to arrange the firecrackers, tying their fuses together.

“No, dung brain,” Sirius snorted, “You can hold a breath without breaking it, but you can’t break a breath without holding it. I don’t even think a breath can be broken.”

“Your word?” Remus asked after a moment.

“Huh. I think that answer’s better than mine,” Sirius said, blithely, feeling around for the covered box before pulling off the invisibility cloak, “I said ‘your heart’. And I was allowed in. But I like yours. Here, Pete,” He held the invisibility cloak out to Peter, “Go put this on and hide by the staff table. You weren’t part of the deal with Filch.” Peter scampered to obey. “Okay, Moons. I’ll light the firecrackers, we’ll both duck for cover, and once they’ve all gone, you turn on the gramophone.” The box was already pitching in the air, dull thumps emanating from it every time the bludger collided with the walls. Sirius fished his wand out of the pocket of his robes and crouched down by the firecrackers, “Ready? Incendio.” 

A small burst of flame shot from his wand to the fuse and lit it, and Remus sprinted for the middle of the hall, Sirius hot on his heels. The acoustics in the Great Hall, as they had learned before, were excellent, and the moment the first firecracker exploded, the room was full of cacophonous noise. Remus clamped his hands over his ears, and beside him, Sirius had fistfuls of his robes pressed to either side of his head. The moment the sound died down, though his ears were still ringing, Remus shot a spell at the hidden gramophone to turn it on, and the recorded message began playing. 

“What’s this? What do you think you’re doing, turning out all the lights? Where is it? Where did you put it? Loony! Loony loopy Lupin! Let me out!” Remus could hear Filch’s footfalls pounding through the entryway en route to the Great Hall, and moments later, he burst in, eyes wild. He caught sight of the box and gave a single exclamation of victory as it jolted the air, rambling on appropriately, “Filch will set you straight Black. Out of bed, naughty naughty. No use catching me for nothing when you’re getting detention anyway.” 

“Shut him up!” Filch hissed, “Shut him up! Can’t have him waking up the castle, no.”

“Silencio,” said Remus, waving his wand at the box, and it fell silent, though it still bucked madly in the air. Sirius advanced, palm outstretched. 

“Payment, before we dump him in the lake?” Sirius prompted with a sunny smile. 

“After,” Filch countered, “Come on. Hurry. Now, before anyone comes.” His breaths were wheezy with eagerness, and he jerked his head towards the nearest exit.

“Or we could just let him out…” Sirius mused, and Filch’s nostrils flared. 

“One hundred now, the rest later.”

“Fine,” Sirius agreed, and Filch, with another glance over his shoulder at the main doors, deposited a heavy bag of gold into Sirius’s hand. He pocketed it at once. “Alright, Moony,” He said, shooting Remus a grin, “Let’s get this poltergeist—“ But Remus could hear something over his voice; a strain of song. At once, Sirius began speaking more loudly, “—out of the castle. Come on hurry.” But it was too late. Filch’s head swiveled towards the entry hall like a bloodhound who had caught a scent. It was Peeves. And he was singing. 

“Potty and Black were both born to be bad  
Still a twosome’s just gruesome, it really is sad  
But with Loony and Mouse-face they’ll make Filch go mad!” 

Cackling as he shot backwards into the hall, Peeves chucked a pair of glasses at Filch’s head, who looked incandescent with fury. Well, damn. Remus just had time to realize they were James’s glasses before Sirius’s hand closed tight around his, and he was being towed along after Sirius. It took him a few seconds to get his feet properly under him, and then they were side by side, both all but flying towards the stairs. 

“Accio trunk!” Sirius shouted, and the poltergeist box whizzed out of the hall, towards them, knocking painfully into Remus’s hip in its attempt to reach Sirius, “Fuck, sorry, Moony.”

“Locomotor trunk,” Remus said through gritted teeth, and the trunk continued following them. In the Great Hall, Peeves was still cackling, and when he looked over his shoulder, Remus caught sight of a candlestick streaking through the air, breaking upon contact with a bannister. 

They were both panting by the time they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Remus, clutching his hip, which was throbbing painfully, caught his breath as Sirius gave the password. They both clambered in, guiding the trunk, to find James skulking in front of the fire, sans glasses. 

“He got excited when he heard the firecrackers,” James said bitterly, “Then he managed to get my glasses when I tried to hex him. I guess you two didn’t manage to get any money off of Filch, then.”

“Au contraire,” Sirius said, leaning over the back of the couch to rest his chin on the top of James’s head, “We got one hundred galleons before Peeves turned up.”

“Well, that’s not terrible,” James said, scooting away from Sirius to look him in the face, “Where’s Wormy?”

“I think he may still be hiding out in the Great Hall with the invisibility cloak,” Remus said, “You could check the map.”

“Hope he gets my glasses… And you still have your gramophone, Pads.”

“And you have your stolen bludger.” 

“I think we can all agree it wasn’t a total loss,” Remus said, smiling, “But it’s late, and seeing as I don’t think it would be wise for me to continue on prefect duty tonight, I think I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”

“Sounds like an excellent idea, Moonbeam,” Sirius said, pulling away from James and tucking his hands into his pockets, “Jammy?”

“I’ll wait for Wormtail,” James said, “Don’t want to go to sleep before I know where my glasses are.” 

“Fair enough. I’ll see you in the morning, then,” He said, starting for the stairs up to the dormitory, pausing only long enough for Remus to catch up. They made eye contact, and Sirius held it for just a moment too long, long enough that Remus’s heart lost count of its beats. “After you, Moonbeam. And sorry again about your hip,” He said at last, gesturing towards the stairs, and they went up together.


End file.
